


Primus Watson Clarior

by Pemberly_11



Category: Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pemberly_11/pseuds/Pemberly_11
Summary: after TLD, no Mary, no Eurus





	Primus Watson Clarior

**Author's Note:**

> after TLD, no Mary, no Eurus

Sherlock was sitting on his chair, a cup of hot tea in his hand, staring at the void. He hears some steps approaching. He recognizes they are John’s. He would recognize his andature in a crowd of billions. And he knows by heart the fraction of second that still occurs between the right step and the left one. He’s learnt that. Both on purpose and involuntary. And every time he hears those tickles, his heart skips a beat. No difference this time. He was used to this now, but he couldn't take it much longer. Sherlock Holmes couldn't be destracted by any kind of emotion. He stopped drinking the tea, put the cup on his lap and waited for John to show at the door, not turning his head but only his eyes. It’s January and Sherlock sees John’s wearing the beige jumper under his coat. That old, soft, horrible jumper he knows he likes so much. He smiles in his mind at that sight. After all not much has changed. John keeps his hands tight behind his back and stands in a military pose, as if he was not feeling at ease entering at 221B. He clears his voice “hello Sherlock, how do you feel today?” He says trying to smile, but the sight of the blood still under Sherlock’s nose and the bruises on his face makes it hard for him to stay lucid. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sherlock suffering. Both physically and emotionally. Not again. Not anymore. He is a doctor. He could cure him. He could take care of him as he had always done in so many different ways. “As you see me. And glad you’re here” answered Sherlock with a shy smile. “You didn’t sleep much last night” said Sherlock noticing the dark circles under John’s eyes, “tea?” “Thank you” said John automatically moving to the kitchen. Sherlock stood up to go get another cup but John stopped him “don’t worry, stay sit. I remember where they are” “John, I’m not disabled. I just almost died suffocated” “I know it’s not a big deal, but I’d rather you to rest” said John smirking. How he missed that smirk. Sherlock smirked too. John sit on his chair, his left leg long on the carpet and his right one a bit bended, opposite Sherlock. “Still fits?” “Perfectly” The satisfaction of seeing him again right in front of him overwhelmed Sherlock. And John looked at him with a proud look on his face. They smiled at each other. They missed that. The old, ordinary life they used to share. They missed them. The glance they shared lasted one second. John spoke first, serious “so, what are you up to now?” “Nothing. I have to update my blog. Find a name for the new species of bees I discovered. Maybe I’ll help some old lady to find their lost cats” said Sherlock drinking a sip of tea a looking away, a bit of sarcasm in his tone. “You know why I’m here now, Sherlock” “Yes I do. You are the third person that comes here this morning. Lestrade first, then Molly, now you. And Mycroft calls every hour. I’d tell you it’s fine, that I can manage, but that wouldn’t get you to go away. At least I hope not” said Sherlock, with shame on his voice. A tone that John had never heard. “No, it wouldn’t” said John firmly, and almost flattered. The tension in the room was palpable, but John couldn’t say why. Sherlock was distant, absent, but in a different way. He was not thinking, he was not in his mind palace, he was not deducing or anything else. John frowned his eyebrows a bit. Sherlock collected every inch of self control he had and started breathing deeply. Looking at the ground he said “I just need some peace and calm. And you” John’s forehead distended, surprised “oh, of course. I’d come whenever you need me, I can stay for the night sometimes if you want company...” Sherlock already knew John wouldn’t understand. He smiled nervously. His hands started shaking and his eyes filled with two big tears, as that night at Baskerville, but this time he was not afraid of his mind betraying him, but his heart. He was afraid of what he was feeling, and afraid that those feelings could destroy him. “You don’t understand” he had never trusted anybody as he trusted John Watson. The same man who saved him any time, was now the man that could tear him apart. Or maybe he had always been. John’s eyebrows frowned again, he worried seeing Sherlock behaving like that. “No I think I don’t. Is everything ok, Sherlock?” “I need you to make tea every morning" he started saying, speaking slowly and deeply, pausing after every sentence, focusing his eyes on the carpet trying to keep his hands still. "I need you to complain I never do the shop. I need you to put the toast on my table every day to make me eat. I need you to write that stupid blog. I need you to shut me when I say too much. I need you to wear that awful jumper whenever it’s cold. I need you to read the news out loud while I’m making an experiment in the kitchen. I need you to take care of me. I’m not half the man I was when I met you. I am a better man because of you. And I know for sure I could never go on with my life without you now. Look at me, my body is betraying me, and it’s always your fault, John Watson. I can’t stay focused when it comes to you. Of all these words I’ve said, there are only three I wanted to say but even my mind is betraying me. I can’t speak anymore” said Sherlock with a calm tone, almost emotionless, paralyzed by the pain. The cup fell on the floor, he covered his eyes with his hands, then he shook his head. He stayed like that for a few seconds, then he stood up and said with a low voice “I’m sorry” he said not even looking at John, and he went towards the window, looked outside, breathed and added “go away. Please. Go away. I never want to see you again” John was still sit on his chair, still as a statue. His eyes were filled with tears. One ran down his left cheek to his lips. He put his cup on the table next to him. What had he done. How. Why. He couldn’t believe that was Sherlock speaking those words. Was it friendship? Gratitude? … Love? He never thought that what he felt for Sherlock could have come this far. He didn’t know how to feel about that. He knew he loved him. He never admitted it, not even to himself, but he knew. He knew he knew. Since that night at the pool. He would have let Moriarty make him explode to save Sherlock. And now Sherlock told him to go away. He was trying to imagine how hard it was for him. To say those things. To feel those things. To realize he was feeling human emotions. His brain couldn’t win against his heart. John was shocked. He decided to leave. Not a word, not a sound. He looked at Sherlock one more time. His curly hair lightened by the pale sun, his blue gown and his sad profile. All of a sudden everything looked surreal. He needed to go home and rest maybe. With the help of Valium. He had stayed at the apartment for 10 minutes, and practically all his life had changed. Sherlock heard his steps down the stairs and turned around. His eyes red, his nerves in tension. Desperation on his face, like never before. He took the violin and looked at it. His loyal companion during moments of sadness and isolation. It reminded him of all the times he used to think about John and he composed music, instead of speaking or crying or anything. Then his look turned into rage. He crashed it to the floor. Screaming. He sat on the floor. His body was burning. He hated himself. He was so disappointed. He couldn’t bear it anymore, and now it was worse than before. He felt his heart stop, he was not able to breathe. He never suffered so much. He wanted to be kicked to death instead. It would have hurt less. He lost control. He didn't recognize himself. What happened to him? All that time trying to hide everything and now it all came out at once. Sherlock didn't know how to manage that situation. He was not used to feelings. He was too weak for emotions. The phone rang, right on time. He reached it with much effort and picked up, staying silent. It was Mycroft. "I know it's John's turn but I have to call anyway. Say hello to him. I'll call in 1 hour. I know you're doing fine if you're with him. Is everything ok, right Sherlock?"  
"brother…" he could barely hear his voice  
"Sherlock?! What have you done? What happened? Where's Watson?!"  
"He's not here, I sent him away…" he was whispering on the floor "brother…" he started sobbing  
"don't move. Don't do anything Sherlock! I'm on my way" Mycroft was really worried. He was screaming  
When Mycroft arrived, he found Sherlock on the floor, sat at the bottom of John's chair, his arms around his legs, his head between them. The room was dark, smelling like a closed box. Mycroft had his breath short. Sherlock lifted his head with his red semiclosed eyes. He looked at his brother with a guilty expression, for one second, then he started crying. Silently. Ashamed.  
'sherlock?' mycroft really didn't understand, 'have you made a list?'  
Sherlock was now looking at him with anger. Disappointment. He really thought this was about drugs? But Mycroft was the smart one, because he never cought himself feeling anything, never. For he was the smart one, he understood at once.  
'oh, brother dear…' said he with a tone of surrender, and he put his umbrella down against the wall  
Sherlock stood up, made three uncertain steps and stopped right in front of his older brother, looking down like he used to do when they were young and he did something wrong, ready to be punished.  
'I told you not to get involved'  
Sherlock looked at him and then leaned his head on his chest, breathing heavly and starting crying as he felt his brother's hands on his shoulders.  
He never thought that could actually happen. But he had been observing Sherlock Holmes and John Watson for six years now, and he was the smart one. He knew this was Sherlock's most difficult case so far. Something he had never been dealing with properly. And now he had to face it. But Mycroft was optimist. He would help him out, but there was only one person who could actually help him completely.  
Sherlock only wanted to be left alone to figure things out. Fine with that, but after nine days passed, Mycroft wanted him to at least eat properly. Sherlock had already given him three lists since that day. He couldn't do this alone. And Mycroft was too less of help. He had to call John.  
They met. Mycroft went to his house with no warning.  
'Mycroft. You didn't drag me into some obscure abandoned building but came here in person. It must be urgent' said John smiling, pretending everything was fine with Sherlock  
"He came sobbing on my shoulder. He already sent me three lists and I don't know how he could still be alive. He named his bees after you. 'Primus Watson Clarior' apparently. Mrs. Hudson told me he ate four times in nine days. He smashed his violin. Cancelled his blog. I don't know what happened between the two of you. He doesn't speak. He doesn't sleep, either. He just cries. It is urgent. I'm worried."  
John couldn't believe his ears. He saddened all at once. 'he sent me away. He didn't give me the time to say anything. He never wants to see me again'  
'who do you think can clean all this mess up? The only person who started it' Mycoft didn't have his usual grin on his face. His eyes looked almost sweet. The only thing John wanted was to see him. After everything he told him, John had to see him and speak to him. He was supposed to be his friend, to help him stay clean, but it seemed like it wasn't working anymore. Something changed and there was no coming back. And now the things Sherlock said. He needed him. And John was there. He will always be there. After all they've been through. Then he sent him away. He had to team up with Mycroft. If he said he was the only one who could help Sherlock, he was. And deeply, John knew it.  
'fine. Let's go' said John trying to step out of the door  
'john. What did he tell you?' Mycroft stood still in front of him  
'………… that he needs me' said John lowering his voice and looking at the ground  
'and I think you need him too, in a way, doctor' said Mycroft keeping his eyes right into John's while grabbing his umbrella  
John coffed 'yes, ok, whatever, but I don't know what to do or say to him now' nervous  
'it'll come to you' said Mycroft smiling at his own plan  
The car stopped next to the side walk in Baker Street. Both John and Mycroft got off but only John headed to the front door. Mycroft saw the unsure and insicure look on his face and said 'you're a soldier, doctor Watson. I think you are brave enough' and John smiled sincererly, a bit reassured.  
When the door closed behind John's back, Mycroft approached to straighten the door handle and lookig up to the window he whispered 'thank you John..'  
Sherlock had noticed a car outside the house and was pissed off Mycroft was there. He expected him to just call, not to visit him.  
When he heard the door closing he shouted 'what are you doing here Mycroft?! Don't bother to come upstairs, I'm not high today!' walking fast up and down the flat. Then he suddenly stopped, looking right at the door. Those were not his brother's steps. He paralyzed. He was not ready. He was already ashamed. His heartbeat got faster and his breath shorter. John took the last step keeping his head down. Sherlock's mind went blank as he saw him showing at the door. Sherlock was wearing a blue shirt under his beige gown. He looked so elegant and posh. His arms long down his body, still. His pupils dilated. 'John…' he whispered talking to himself. John lifted his head. Not moving one step he just said with a very low and soft voice 'if you want me to leave just say it', and waited for an answer with his fists closed, his puppy, prying eyes right into Sherlock's and his mouth dry. Sherlock said nothing. Seeing John leave was the last thing he wanted in the universe. He wanted him there, always. But he wasn't sure about what John wanted. He was afraid that he made him uncomfortable, and now their relationship could never be the same it was. He was not his John anymore.  
John hadn't seen him in ten days. How beaufiul he was. Even if he had red eyes, black circles under them, four days long beard, and shaking hands. His absense from John's life made him beautiful, and sexy. And seeing him so weak and silent made all the affection come out. Sherlock Holmes, the one who would outlive God to have the last word, was now silent in front of his feelings. In front of John Watson.  
'well then…' said John, 'I'm here to help, Sherlock'  
'I'm fine' responded him, going to the kitchen to avoid eye contact  
'Mycroft asked me to come because he's worried. And if even him is worried, it means you've gone too far, and I'm worried too' his tone was almost severe, like talking to a child who would not listen. Then he dropped the heavy words 'so, if you need me as you say, here I am. I am not going anywhere until you're fine' said John in one breath, not moving, straight away.  
At those words Sherlock was confused. He looked at the doctor in silence for a few seconds. Why was he talking about what he told him? Why would he talk about the feelings he confessed? He was so uncomfortable. He tried to send him away again, not even knowing why.  
'don't be silly, you moved out'  
'sherlock'  
'you have a new job'  
'sherlock listen'  
'I can't oblige you here, John!'  
'but I want to! I want to be here with you!'  
Sherlock backed his head, his eyes expanded. 'your left hand is shaking' noticed him, swallowing  
'oh now you deduce me? Yes, I'm shaking but the right question is WHY? Can't you see it, Sherlock? You don't understand this?'  
'No John, I don't. speak clear' his voice was almost afraid  
'oh the genius Sherlock Holmes doesn't understand! How many times have I told you? Human nature! Why is my hand shaking, Sherlock, why indeed?' John's face was angry, he was taking time to speak because he didn't know how to say it and he was blaming Sherlock  
'don't make fun of me John. Please. Not you' said Sherlock sadly. John saw he hurt his feelings. The guilt took him by surprise. How could he be so mean when he was about to tell him he loved him? Shame on you John Watson.  
'the point I'm trying to make, Sherlock, is that I need you too'  
Silence. The two of them standing in front of one another, staring at each other, breathing heavily.  
Sherlock didn't want to believe it. He knew he ruined John's life telling him those things. And now he needed him more than ever. He would let himself die without John Watson. He knew that was insane. He had fought against sentiment all his life and after six years he couldn't fight anymore. Through the years, love had spread inside him capillarly, slowly, but unstoppable. And now it was unbearable for him to go on. It was useless to fight.  
He tried one more time.  
'not the way I need you' said him, rigidly  
'in the exact same way, Sherlock' that was it  
'John please, you don't understand' he was almost crying  
'you don't understand. Deduce yourself, Sherlock'  
That was hard to do and to admit for him  
'What do you feel Sherlock? What is it? Tell me Sherlock. Please' John was now impatient and he let it all come out, pointing at Sherlock with his finger 'because I know what I mean when I say I need you. I know this sentiment. I need you to need me. Because of you my life has now a meaning. I was so lost after I returned from war. I tried to kill myself more than once, you know? I had no reason to hold on. And then you turned up. At the beginning it was fun to help you with your cases. But then they became also my cases, and you became my friend, and this flat became my home. But only if you were here. I was happy to play the fool for you, to make you look cleverer than we both know you are. When you show off with your collar coat and you solve a case in few seconds and then you look at me proudly, smiling. Irresistable. And when someone calls you a 'freak'? I would punch them to death if I could. So you wouldn't be hurt. You see what I mean? My life outside this flat is hell, Sherlock. I don't know how I managed to go on for two years after you died. You faked your own death and I forgave you! Because the need of being with you again was stronger than anything. I asked you to come back. I never lost hope that you heard me. And now here you are again. Sick, high, weak, telling me that you need me. And I tell you that I need you too because…'  
'I love you'  
Sherlock kept his head down, almost whispering  
John stopped screaming. He heard it. He could hear the effort in his voice.  
Keeping his eyes closed and breathing in deeply Sherlock said 'I love you, John Watson, and I deduce you love me too' and then opened them 'am I right?' looking at John desperately but trying to stay serious, his hands shaking, his voice trembling  
John had the same look on his face as when on a case he didn't get what Sherlock just said but he was so amazed by him and he was about to say 'fantastic'. This time was different.  
'yes you are' said John without breathing. He looked Sherlock in the eyes for almost one minute. Fair blue eyes. Now they were not so illegible.  
Sherlock was defenseless and armless. Alone against what he was feeling. Afraid. So it was worth to risk it all. He took two steps closer to John.  
'Sherlock William Scott Holmes'  
He stopped. Fear on his face. Confusion.  
'don't stop'  
He let his doctor guide him. His soldier. His flatmate. His John. The love of his life. The first and last, he was sure. He was all in his hands. He would let him tear him apart. And he would forgive him. He was entitled.  
He reached John and took his left hand in his, not lookig at him. Then slowly, softly he pushed him against the kitchen door's jamb. John let him do, waiting. Once they were body against body, John lifted his head. He could see Sherlock's heart-shaped lips. He opened his mouth a bit, excited. His cologne scent, the profile of his nose, the shape of his hair, him, so close. Was it actually happening? Was Sherlock doing that? He was overwhelmed.  
As he saw John lifting his head, Sherlock looked at him in the sweetest way possible for one second, then he lowered his face next to John's ear, his curls caressing his cheek, and whispered 'I love you' his voice almost breaking into a cry. He paused, breathing. 'I love you. I love you. I love you…' and then he put his head on his shoulder, keeping speaking with his mouth on his jumper like a child in need, saying those words as if he could go on forever 'I love you. I love you. I love you…'  
John could feel his body shaking. He was afraid his heart would explode. He smiled, putting his right hand on Sherlock's neck, to reassure him.  
'heard you the first time'  
At his touch, Sherlock lifted his head, John could see his teary eyes. He couldn't stand that. He lost it. He was completely lost for Sherlock Holmes.  
Keeping eye contact, he started to lean closer. Sherlock was still, looking at him, afraid but confident. Their lips touched. One quick contact. Eyes still open. John smirked. Sherlock was shocked, no expression on his face, but he could feel his body burning in pleasure and happiness, real happiness  
'I love you too'  
And Sherlock kissed him, properly, long, delicately, with his hand in his hair, caressing his cheek with his thumb while John's arms wrapped aroud his back, not breathing, just pressing every piece of their bodies together.


End file.
